


without really meaning it.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [22]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: It was as meaningless as everything he'd ever done.





	without really meaning it.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

His lungs burned with the ache of running without end. No matter how hard he ran, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't reach Akira in time. Always, always, no matter how close Akechi got, the god would reach down and destroy him. Akira disappeared over and over in a swirl of ash and blood.

“No,” Akechi murmured, crawling forward in the dark on his hands and knees. “No...”

“This is what awaits you,” the voice resounded through the void. “This was always to be his end.”

Akechi shook his head, shook and shook and shook until he was dizzy.

“No. You're wrong. It can't be. It can't.”

Laughter, low and all-encompassing. It wasn't malicious, just...certain. Just so above it all.

And then Akira was ahead of him, and Akechi ran. Over and over. Over and over. Over and over again until he couldn't move anymore.

“Please,” Akechi gasped, curled into himself on the ground. “Please, don't go.”

Finally, for once, Akira stopped. Turned around. Grinned down at Akechi a cold, vicious, and lifeless grin.

“What do you mean,” Akira asked mockingly, “ _don't go_? Isn't this what you wanted? To see me burn?”

“I...I...”

Akira laughed. Beneath his laughter, perhaps even a part of it, was the booming laughter from before. The dark voice without beginning or end. Akechi reached his hand out as far as it would go. It wasn't far enough.

The god came down again and crushed Akira beneath its heel. This time, just before Akira died, he mouthed the words Akechi dreaded to hear.

“I love you, Goro.”

They rang so hollow, so meaningless in this hell. And Akira's eyes were black through and through, empty, like they'd been plucked out.

Akechi woke with a scream lodged in his throat. He sweat through his shirt, through his blanket, despite the cold he felt inside and out. He groped around in the dark, tried to make his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, but he stumbled on the way there and wound up curled up on the floor, shaking through his sobs.

It was a dream. A dream. Only a dream.

Why, then, did it feel so real? Why could he still feel the burning in his lungs, the ache in his legs? Why did his heart still pound like it wanted to burst free of his chest? He coughed once, twice, and then fell into a fit. It was hard to breathe. It was so, so hard to breathe.

When he finally did catch his breath, he made a second attempt to get to the kitchen. Managed, this time, to pour that glass of water. He drank it with a trembling hand, trying hard to still his rapidly beating heart.

Still, that cold, dead laughter echoed in his ears—Akira's, and the god's. There was no escaping it, just like there was no escaping Akira's death.

After all he'd done to circumvent it, had it still not been enough? What more could he possibly do?

“No,” Akechi said through grit teeth. He clenched his hands against the sink. “It was a dream. It was only a dream.”

He told himself this, over and over, until it was a heavy certainty lodged like a stone in his core.

He checked the time—four in the morning. Far too early to call Akira to check up on him. Not that he wanted to, Akechi told himself, backtracking. Losing his own train of thought. He shook his head, took another drink of water.

No, everything was fine. It had to be.

Even so, crawling back into bed did nothing to stop his trembling. Sleep wouldn't come. Akechi lie awake, staring at the ceiling, until the sun crept in through his window. He sighed and decided to give up. He reached for his phone and shot a quick text to Akira, a simple “hey,” before he was finally, finally able to fall back asleep. At least it was the weekend. It's not as though he had anywhere to be.

The pounding door woke him. Akechi practically jumped out of his futon, he was so startled.

“C-coming,” he called, reaching for his pants and stumbling for the door.

“Who is—”

“Goro?”

The voice, though muffled, belonged unmistakably to Akira Kurusu. Akechi blinked in surprise before unlocking the door and slowly pulling it open.

“Kurusu? What are you doing here?”

“You texted me.”

Akira held up his phone, as if that would prove anything. The screen wasn't even turned on.

“I...I did, but...did you really have to come over?”

“Figured something was wrong.”

“Why?”

“You never text me.”

Akechi supposed that was true. Still, Akira's reasoning seemed like a massive leap of logic.

“Well, as you can see, I'm fine, so...”

“Not gonna invite me in?”

“H-huh? You want to...come in?”

“Thanks.”

Akira stepped past Akechi into the apartment. He immediately started undoing his jacket before Akechi could even close the door.

“Just...make yourself at home, then,” said Akechi, rather helplessly.

Akira hung his jacket over one of the chairs at the kitchen counter. Sat down in that same chair and leaned forward with his chin resting on his hand. Stared at Akechi and waited.

Akechi shifted uncomfortably. He was still only in his pajamas, and his hair was a mess, and he just wasn't in any way prepared for visitors. He was even less prepared for Akira's usual scrutinizing gaze, especially when those black eyes from his nightmare were still lodged like a bullet in his head.

Akira frowned at him. He stood up from the counter and approached Akechi, running a thumb across his cheek. “Your eyes are red. Were you crying?”

“N...no, I...”

“You don't have to lie to me,” Akira said, quietly. “What's wrong?”

His hand still rested against Akechi's cheek. Akechi reached up and cupped Akira's hand in his own.

“It's nothing,” Akechi assured him, softly. “Just some dream. I don't even remember it.”

_I don't remember your body being crushed over and over and not being able to do anything about it. I don't remember those far, dark eyes, staring into me, staring beyond me, empty yet so full of bitter loathing all at once. I don't remember the pain in my chest or in my legs, I don't remember reaching out for you, I don't remember failing to save you no matter how hard I tried._

Akechi swayed on his feet. Akira caught him before he could fall over.

“S-sorry,” Akechi stammered. “I just woke up. Must have stood up too fast.”

Akira frowned like he didn't believe him. Thankfully, though, he didn't say anything about it. Just guided Akechi to one of the counter chairs and had him sit down. Sat down beside him and held both of his hands.

“It's okay to rely on me, you know,” Akira muttered, looking not, for once, into Akechi's eyes, but at their enfolded hands. “I'm here for you.”

“I know that,” Akechi answered. He ran his thumb across the back of Akira's palm in comfort. “Truly, it's nothing to worry about.”

“I know you said once you get nightmares sometimes. What are they about?”

“Oh...” Akechi waved his hand dismissively and chuckled. “This and that. Nothing that extreme, really. I'm sure real police have it much worse.”

Akira sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His whole posture stiffened, and as a result, so did Akechi's. He'd said something wrong again. It seemed he was always, always saying or doing something wrong. Akechi reached out to touch Akira's arm, paused, drew back. Akira still wasn't looking at him, so he didn't seem to notice the gesture.

Before Akechi could ask what was wrong, Akira spoke, softly, quietly, so low that Akechi practically had to read his lips to understand.

“You don't trust me,” said Akira. “Even now. Even after everything we've...”

His words drifted off, and he shook his head. The small frown on his lips made Akechi's heart skip a beat, though he didn't know why. Was that...disappointment Akira was showing?

“It's not that I don't trust you,” Akechi began quickly, scrambling to explain himself, but not knowing how. “It's that...It's...”

“I know,” said Akira. “You're trying to protect me, right?”

Akechi froze. He stared at Akira in open shock.

“You...”

“I wish you wouldn't,” Akira stated, looking firmly into Akechi's eyes. “I wish you would let me in.”

I can't, Akechi thought but didn't say. I don't know how.

Akira sighed again, stood up, reached for his jacket.

“I'm just...gonna go.”

Akechi scrambled for something to say, anything at all, but for once, his mind was completely silent. No possibilities running through his head. No senseless babble dripping off of his tongue. He could only stare at Akira as he made his way to the door, slipping his arms into his jacket.

Just before Akira left, he looked over his shoulder at Akechi with those dark, sad eyes.

“I love you,” he said, so softly it made Akechi's stomach twist.

And then he was gone.

Akechi put his elbows on the counter. Hid his face in his hands. Tears threatened to spill over again, but he grit his teeth against them. He was tired of crying. It helped nothing and no one. Besides, he had nothing to be so upset about. 

Instead of succumbing to his emotions (whatever they were, and he was in no way eager to examine them), he went back to scanning the files Sae Niijima had smuggled to him through Makoto the day before. Some of the later reports on Shido's condition showed promise. Heightened aggression. Lapses in memory. Stuttering speech. Good. That was good. Election day was only a week away.

Akechi leaned back in his seat, steepled his hands in front of his face, and grinned. He was so close now. So close to destroying everything Masayoshi Shido held dear. His perfect revenge was soon to be complete, and with that, Akira should be...

He shook his head and tried to forget those empty eyes, that empty declaration of love. What if all of Akira's declarations—and there had been so, so many—had been just as empty? Just meaningless, pretty phrases to lull Akechi into a stupor of complacency? What if Akechi was right where Akira wanted him all along? 

Perhaps, Akechi thought (smiling faintly, staring up at the ceiling for the second time that morning), just perhaps, that might be for the best after all.

 


End file.
